Nobody
by Scruff the Rat
Summary: There's a reason Mr. Peabody skips from puppyhood straight to graduation every time he introduces himself. Rated for drinking, cursing, and existential crises.


**There's not enough stories of Teen Peabs. Seriously, an adolescent talking dog who's had to deal with being one of a kind and getting crap for it: that is prime angst material right there!**

 **Anyway, please enjoy this piece of work inspired by a movie of which I own nothing and enjoy mostly everything.**

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 _"_ _I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude." – Henry David Thoreau_

 ** _WHAM!_**

The sound echoes like a lion's roar through room and hallway alike as a beige door bounces against the wall. Normally someone would have pounded on the wall nearby, spouting some potently colorful words in retaliation for the noise (despite more than likely blame for the same infraction seconds later).

Thankfully the denizens of this hall consists solely of seniors on the verge of graduation. In other words, with everyone else out partying until dawn, merciful quiet would dominate the dorms...and for a tiny ivory beagle that barely managed to escape before everything got too wild, it is a blessing.

Not a blessing enough, no thanks to the incessant urge to snatch an extra wine bottle for his stash on the way out, much less 'sample' it.

 _Should have looked at the label before chugging it down like a human._

The dog groans with barely restrained relief as he slams the door closed and staggers to his twin-sized bed, spiky blue-tipped hair sagging from the sweat generated from tonight's festivities, emerald eyes glazed behind the dark tint of his askew sunglasses.

A sudden surge ascends up the throat in hopes for escape, forcing a vile taste into his mouth. His lips instinctively barricade the exit, giving him the chance to swallow the nausea back down. Eyes shut from the effort of preventing more of him being present than necessary, automatically his hands drop the empty drink into the garbage bin and blindly stumble for the remedial savior.

To no avail. A suppressed growl reverberates against the walls of his larynx.

 _Ugh, where are those blasted vitamin pills?_ The surge pushes harder, his search more frantic. _Damn it...where are they?!_

At last his fingers feel the familiar smoothness of a bottle. Finally, there they are; and after an unusually clumsy grab down they go. Dry starchiness nearly invokes the gag reflex. He clutches his throat with a faint gagging sound and snatches the water bottle off the counter next, grimacing less as the room temperature liquid forces the tablets down his esophagus, before sprawling back-first upon the bed.

Bubbled grumbles bite against the walls of his stomach seconds later, discontent with the unwelcome mixture of overabundant food and drink and fashionably late medication.

A small price to pay for the upcoming hangover awaiting him in the morning.

An even smaller price to pay for the glorious high of grandeur and accomplishment his latest invention earned amongst the majority of academic peers— _and_ the priceless disbelief and incredulity of the classmates and professors that openly jeered his attempts at a plausible source of renewable energy.

The celebratory party, on the other hand, might not have been as necessary—wait, of course it had been necessary, even if his attendance had not been! What a silly doubt! He'd wasted unimaginable time on his creation and forgone other needs besides his bodily ones; he deserved every right to bask in adulation.

And once this hangover subsided, onto the next project!

Of course, with some check-ups on the previous ones, just to make sure nobody tried to sabotage him. Not that much of a difference would matter if someone attempted as such; he'd taken initiative in implementing fail-safes and security measures designed to teach those idiots twice, thrice if necessary, about tinkering with the fruit of _his_ handsome mind.

 _Oh, speaking of handsome._ Smirk unabashed, out of the left hip pocket of his black jacket he produces a pale yellow Post-It note laden with numerous phone numbers.

Yes, for all its annoyances, the party proved well worth the trouble. And for all their flaws, humans provide quite the entertainment. He couldn't wait to leave all these expectant fools high and dry in heartbroken disappointment.

So now what?

The smirk lost strength at the dead end question. Without everyone else out, he'd be all alone tonight...

Not that the infamous Hector Peabody would give a damn of having a relationship of _that_ nature, of course! As if he would ever have any interest wasting his time with such base pursuits like some simple-minded animal. Not when much better callings await him!

 _And besides, I'd sooner be led by a leash than let a mere human lay their filthy hands on me._ Another reason he decided to cut his presence short. Some of the attendants got too hands-on for comfort, as though they deigned themselves worthy of his time and patience.

Imbeciles, every last one of them.

Shaking his head free of these frivolous thoughts, Hector hops off the bed—regrettably once the nausea reminded him of its lovely presence—and stomps to a dark brown wooden desk on the other side of the room. Once he sits down and pulls out an empty set of blueprints, however, his thoughts stall again.

Hector holds back an instant snarl and grips his head hard, frustrated at his own ineptness. Usually ideas would burst from his mind like a supernova, so why couldn't his mind think anything up now?

 _Calm mind, man. Calm your mind,_ mentally chants Hector as his fingers massaged the temples. His attempts prove semi-successful once frustration melts into confusion and wonder. _Why am I so tense lately? I'm always been good at maintaining coolness under pressure._

No matter what nightmares childhood memories tried to invoke.

This time, they succeed. Reflexes to retch storm within him once again, harsher and unstoppable, and push him to dash towards his toilet in desperation, chair falling over with a sad clatter in the process.

Ten minutes later he's back in his chair (upright again), fur more rustled than before, and rubbing a hand down his snout, belly aching from the effort of expulsion. Okay, so maybe stress played a _minor_ part in his current mental state. But nothing more, mind you!

Otherwise he would have lost his mind ages ago.

Neither could rejection be the answer. He'd gotten used to that a long time ago, he most certainly did! And he had no such problems nowadays either! After all, only a simpleton would be blind enough to reject someone as spectacular as him!

Loneliness?

His chest aches with bitter laughter. Ridiculous. He didn't need anyone. Isolation was just a mere annoyance, a setback, and he always knew what to do with annoyances and setbacks: work them away.

If only his brain kept a perfect track record in adhering to that solution. That flaw let the _other_ thoughts, the ones far-removed from his intellect, the only world that brought him comfort, swarm and consume him until he could barely see beyond a misty sheen that was most CERTAINLY not tears.

Godiva, he loathes emotions.

His eyes trail to the drawer beside. Could he—he shakes his head with a fervent scowl.

 _Idiocy. Pure wretched idiocy. I already have a headache! That would just build it up even more._

He pulls out a bottle anyway.

Not like tomorrow had anything important in store for him: all his assignments for this semester done, every single personal project so far settled save for a few finishing touches...and not a single invitation to any social junction.

 _What about him? You know, Hector?_

 _You gotta call him by his last name, remember?_

 _Oh yeah, he always throws a fit whenever someone uses his first one._

 _Exactly. Still, he's pretty freakin' talented. Bringing him along might spice things up._

 _Eh, everyone might be better off if we don't bring him along._

 _Ugh, of course don't bring 'im along; he is such a snob!_

 _Tell me about it. Maybe he's compensating for being a dog._

 _Well, whatever the reason, he's just gonna lord his brains over everybody, show off how 'absolutely' smart he is._

 _God knows he'd done it enough times to me. I know he's smarter than everyone else, but he could at least be a little nicer._

 _Please, as if that mutt knows the meaning of 'nice'._

 _He might as well be made of ice._

That last voice settles in his mind more heavily than the others. Loneliness remained his sole constant companion, the one friend who never lied, never hid secrets, and never spoke behind his back. Anyone else: either a mere roadblock or a key opportunity to advance further.

Because what worth lay in success without a few sacrifices?

"Always aim for number one" _,_ he chants under trembling breath as he tears the cap off and flings it to the floor, cleanliness be damned, "Never allow anyone to impede your goals."

 _Because who could ever care for you but you?_

Furry lips embrace the crimson wine with pure openness, tongue loosening and flinching at the escape filling his belly, anger and fears and doubts and worries slushing together into an incoherent mass.

Not enough...still not enough.

 _MORE_ , _more_ , more...more...he needed more still...just a little bit...

At last the wine bottle depletes, completely drained of its treasure, a treasure that never failed (must never fail) to wipe away pain and hopes and desperation that never (should have) existed. Hector's lips release with a sigh laden with somber content.

Then one more pill into his mouth. A part of him knew he'd come to regret that decision, but for now he could not care less.

"Yesh...," uncoordinated steps return him to his bed somehow, jacket and glasses tossed to the floor in his drunken daze, "I'm peeerfethly fine. I need no one elshe..."

 _I need no one. I need nobody. I only need myself._

He collapses among the sheets, the bottle his only company, eyes glazing into unconsciousness.

"No one..."

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 **Hopefully I've wrecked someone's feels with this little blurb.**


End file.
